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THE    AMERICAN   LEGEND. 


POEM 


THE  PHI  BETA  KAPPA  SOCIETY 


HARVARD    UNIVERSITY, 


JULY    18,    1850. 


BY  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


PUBLISHED   BY   REQUEST. 


CAMBRIDGE: 

PUBLISHED   BY   JOHN    BARTLET-T, 
1850. 


THE    AMERICAN   LEGEND. 


POEM 


BEFORE 


THE   PHI  BETA  KAPPA  SOCIETY 

OP 

HARVARD    UNIVERSITY, 
JULY    18,    1850. 

BY  BAYARD    TAYLOR. 

PUBLISHED   BY   REQUEST. 


CAMBRIDGE: 

PUBLISHED   BY   JOHN    BART  LETT 
1850. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850,  by 

JOHN   BARTLETT, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE  : 
METCALF  AND  COMPANY, 

PRINTERS    TO    THE    UNIVERSITY. 


THE   AMERICAN  LEGEND. 


WHEN,  hoarse  and  loud,  the  winds  of  Winter 

blow, 

And  moonlight  glitters  on  the  crisping  snow,  — 
When  streams  amid  their  sheltering  sedges  yield, 
And  hide  their  fretting  with  a  crystal  shield, — 
When  tags  of  ice  the  oak's  rough  beard  adorn, 
And,  sleety-haired,  the  willow  sighs  forlorn, 
While,  bent  with  snow,  like  some  grief-burdened 

brow 

White  ere  its  season,  snaps  the  hemlock-bough,  — 
How  warm  and  cheerful,  through  the  dreary  cold, 
Beams  the  lit  window  of  a  farm-house  old ! 


M184049 


4  THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND. 

How  the  rough  shell,  whose  windy  gables  freeze 

Amid  the  creaking  of  the  orchard  trees, 

Pours    through     its    loophole,  —  far    along    the 

night, 
The  bursting  fulness  of  its  heart  of  light ! 

Leave  we  the  frost  to  forge  its  noiseless  chain, 
And  play  Asmodeus  at  the  ruddy  pane. 
In  the  wide  fireplace,  as  the  flame  upsprings, 
The  pine-log  crackles  and  the  hickory  sings : 
Their  ample  glow  the  household  group  betrays, 
Who  feel  the  warmth  and  gather  round  the  blaze, 
Happier  for  all  the  wastes  of  moonlit  snow, 
Lapped  in  content,  to  hear  the  wild  winds  blow. 
The  sturdy  sire,  whose  fourscore  years  gone  by 
Scarce  warp  his  voice,  or  dim  his  pleasant  eye, 
Finds  in  the  soothing  sounds  that  charm  the 

night 

A  tranquil  joy,  recalling  past  delight ; 
And  while  the  brave  old  cider  passes  round, 
And  gleams  the  board,  with  rosy  apples  crowned, 


THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND.  5 

The  ancient  memories,  never  wholly  lost, 
No  longer  lie  congealed  in  Age's  frost, 
But  melt  in  dew,  that  with  benignant  rain 
Freshens  his  heart  and  makes  him  young  again. 

He  speaks  of  winters  whose  relentless  power 
Made  peril  darker  at  its  darkest  hour,  — 
When   winds    were    louder   in   their    midnight 

tune, 

And  pines  rose  black  against  the  icy  moon, 
What  time,  in  cold  and  hunger's  keenest  stress, 
Their  camp-fires  lit  the  Northern  wilderness. 
Again  those  bands  the  weary  journey  make 
By  rugged  portage  and  by  frozen  lake, 
Scaring  the  moose  within  their  mountain  lairs 
With  the  shrill  cheer  of  Continental  airs. 
Again  he  sees  them  drift,  in  hopeless  wreck, 
Beneath  the  battlements  of  old  Quebec, 
Hears  the  deep    drum-beat   and   the   trumpet's 
swell, 

As  on  the  morning  when  Montgomery  fell, 
1* 


6  THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND. 

And  the  old  eye  betrays  a  gathering  tear, 
Born  of  those  drops  it  shed  beside  his  bier. 

The  picture  changes.     "Pis  the  early  May; 
The  lake  spreads  dimly  in  the  dawning  gray, 
Calmed   with   the   mist    that    hides    its    placid 

shores, 

And  gives  no  sound  beneath  the  muffled  oars. 
Silent  and  swift  the  soldier-boatmen  glide 
Where  old  Ticonderoga  fronts  the  tide ; 
Around  the  bastions,  through  the  arch  they  creep, 
Awake  the  careless  sentry  from  his  sleep, 
And  storm  the  court,  where  Ethan  Allen's  tread 
Roused  the  bewildered  chieftain  from  his  bed, 
To  hear  that  voice  of  stormy  volume  claim 
The  fortress-key  in  Great  Jehovah's  name, — 
To  see  him  turn  aside  and  grimly  laugh 
When  the  cross-banner  fluttered  down  its  staff, 
And  rose  the  inspiring  shouts  that  only  rise 
When  Freedom's   sons  exult  in  Freedom's  vic 
tories  ! 


THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND.  7 

The  old   man's    heart,  filled  with   the    olden 

time, 

Gives  to  his  voice  an  unaccustomed  chime ; 
And,  as  one  memory  to  another  clings, 
The  scanty  tide  receives  a  thousand  springs, 
And   backward   flows   through    all   his    father's 

lore, 

Till  fades  the  track  along  the  glimmering  shore. 
With  chin  on  hand  and  sunburnt  forehead  bent, 
His  sons  lean  forward,  on  his  lips  intent; 
Yet  more  than  theirs  the  wonder  and  surprise 
That  brighten  up  his  little  grandson's  eyes : 
The  matron's  fingers  at  her  knitting  stray 
And  drop  the  stitch,  unnoticed,  by  the  way ; 
While   the    hale    neighbour,    who  has  tramped 

again 

The  upland  path,  to  talk  of  beeves  and  grain, 
Warms  with  the  tale,  and,  more  familiar  grown. 
Asks  for  the  sword,  —  the  jewel  rarely  shown. 
The  old  man  yields,  —  he  bids  the  grandson  go  : 
The  boy,  obedient,  dreads  an  ambushed  foe ; 


THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND. 

The  candle  flickers  in  the  chilly  air, 
And  loud  beneath  him  creaks  the  oaken  stair ; 
The  antique  bedroom  and  the  lofty  press 
Add  fresher  terrors  to  his  vague  distress  ; 
Some  Indian,  surely,  crouches  by  the  door, 
Or  glides,  with  stealthy  step,  across  the  floor ; 
A  troop  of  redcoats  lurk  beneath  the  bed, 
Shake  the  loud  sash,  and  walk  the  beams  o'er- 

head  ; 

Thrilling  with  dread,  his  temples  seem  to  feel 
The  scalping-knife,  his  ribs  the  pointed  steel ; 
With  hurried  hands  he  opes  the  guarded  chest, 
Lifts  the  old  weapon  from  its  honored  rest, 
And  slips,  emboldened,  from  the  chilly  gloom 
Back  to  the  gladness  of  the  peopled  room, 
Where,  when  his  feet  have   found  their  former 

place, 
The  ruddy  firelight  shows  a  braver  face. 

Thus,  till  the  blazing  logs  grow  black,  and  cold, 
The  Legend  pens  them  in  its  charmed  fold. 


THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND.  9 

Though  o'er  their  lives  delusive  Fancy  flings 
No  rainbow  solace  from  her  tinsel  wings, — 
Though  the  harsh  round  of  common  toil  they 

tread, 

Nor  into  sunshine  lift  the  plodding  head, 
Yet  in  their  simple  hands  the  key  is  held 
To  all  the  misty  chronicles  of  Eld, 
And  from  her  stores  they  take  a  joy  as  true 
As  e'er  the  prophet-soul  of  Genius  knew. 
The  scholar  ponders  the  immortal  page 
Where    Shakspeare's  sun  gives   light   to   every 

age, 

Or,  trembling,  walks  in  Milton's  grander  spell, 
The  burning  marl,  the  hollow  vaults  of  hell ; 
But  England's  poorest  peasant-child  can  see 
Bold  Robin  Hood  beneath  the  greenwood  tree, 
And    Cheviot's     flocks    the    shepherd's    ballad 

know 

Of  stout  Earl  Percy  and  the  milk-white  doe. 
The  fisher,  rocked  on  some  Norwegian  fjord, 
Sings  of  the  old  Berserker's  steed  and  sword, 


10  THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND. 

Hallows  the  mound  that  marks  a  Viking's  grave, 
And  sees  his  white-winged  dragons  breast  the 

wave. 

Valencia's  mountains  echo,  as  of  yore, 
The  battle-song  of  Cid  Campeador ; 
In  Suabia's  valleys  keeps  his  ancient  guard, 
In  many  a  song,  the  brave  Count  Eberhard, 
And  Tuscan  children  'mid  the  vines  grow  pale 
At  Pisa's  curse  and  Ugolino's  tale. 

While  Power  and  Learning,  emulous  of  Fame, 
Wrest  from  the  stubborn  world  a  brief  acclaim, 
Yet,  blindly  marching  to  the  common  doom, 
Build  o'er  their  empty  urns  a  pompous  tomb, 
A  simple  deed,  the  unsought  glory  won 
By  some  frank  soul,  that  could  not  else  have 

doner 

Will  to  his  name  a  living  beauty  give, 
And  in  the  world's  embalming  memory  live. 
In  epic  grandeur,  we  may  spurn  the  sod, 
Be  more  than  man,  scarce  less  than  demigod, 


THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND.  11 

And  in  those  temples  where  the  Few  adore 
Be  throned  in  joy  and  glory  evermore  : 
With  tragic  torch,  our  steps  may  downward  tend 
Through   the  soul's  caverns,  deepening  without 

end, 

Past  fires  volcanic,  blazing  fierce  and  dun, 
And  still,  cold  lakes,  that  never  saw  the  sun : 
Filled  with  a  thirst  insatiate  and  divine, 
Our  lips  may  quaff  the  lyric's  glorious  wine, 
Or,  touched  more  gently,  by  a  thirst  as  true, 
Sip  from  the  pastoral's  cup  of  honey-dew, 
Yet,  in  our  pride,  the  precious  draught  we  waste 
On  duller  lips,  that  have  not  learned  to  taste. 
The  Mind's  creations  need  a  finer  sense 
To  feel  their  power,  and  do  them  reverence : 
They  o'er  their  narrow  fealties  reign  apart,  — 
The  Legend  nestles  in  the  nation's  heart ! 

Self-sprung,  like   Athens'    children,   from   the 

soil, 
It  needs  no  touch  of  Art's  sublimer  toil ; 


12  THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND. 

It  lifts  no  wing  to  skies  more  cold  and  rare, 
But  treads  the  earth  and  breathes  the  common 

air. 

So,  as  the  race  and  language  pass  away, 
It  twines,  perennial,  round  their  slow  decay, 
And  thrills  the  pulses  of  decrepitude 
With  the  rich  vigor  of  its  youthful  blood. 
In  vain  the  master  of  the  cunning  lyre 
Would  lend  his  fashion  to  its  plain  attire, 
Mask  with  his  dreams  of  fair  ideal  grace 
The  homely  features  of  its  breathing  face, 
Or  give  its  limbs  of  living  strength  alone 
The  shape  symmetric  of  the  chiselled  stone. 
In  Nature's  heart,  the  same  compassion  mild 
Beats  for  her  poorest  and  her  proudest  child ; 
Soothed  on  her  breast,  to  all  alike  belong 
The  joy  and  solace  of  her  truest  song, 
And  though  the  splendid  mausoleums  wrought, 
In  long  aspiring,  by  the  Kings  of  Thought, 
May  stand  exempt  from  jealous  Time's  control, 
The  simplest  word  that  moves  the  general  soul 


THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND.  13 

Will,  glad  and  frequent  as  a  star,  arise 
To  light  the  path  of  countless  centuries ! 

And   thou,   our   land!     nursed   at    a   savage 

breast ! 

Thou,  Empire-child  !  Young  Titan  of  the  West ! 
What  songs  to  mould  thee  did  harmonious  part, 
When  thou  wert  growing  under  Freedom's 

heart  ? 

What  was  the  legend  that  she  told  to  thee 
When  thou  wert  lisping  at  her  parent-knee  ? 
Thine  were  no  shapes  of  beauty,  such  as  beamed 
Upon  thine  elder  brothers,  as  they  dreamed : 
For  thee  no  gods,  thine  early  toil  to  share, 
Walked  on  thy  hills  and  brightened  thy  blue  air: 
The  fairy  forms,  the  dreams,  Olympus-born, 
That  peopled  Earth  when  smiled  the  Attic  morn, 
Gave  to  young  Greece  the  glory  of  his  eye, 
And  taught  his  feet  no  step  but  Victory ! 
But  when  the  world  first  knew  thine  infant  tread. 
Its  breast  was  soulless,  —  Pan  himself  was  dead  1 
2 


14  THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND. 

For  thee  no  gush  of  summer  leaves  betrayed 
The  Hamadryad  laughing  in  the  shade  ; 
Though  wreathing  mist  the  mountain  steeps  un 
veiled, 

No  longer  there  the  glimmering  Oread  sailed, 
Nor,  where  the  cliff-born  torrent  left  its  home, 
The  Naiad  shouted  through  her  silver  foam. 
Where  the  salt  sea-wave  on  the  breakers  fell, 
No  beckoning  Siren  strung  her  wreathed  shell,  — 
No  angry  ^Eolus  heaped  his  cloudy  rack, 
Nor  Triton-boys  bestrode  the  dolphin's  back. 
Yet,  though  the  early  oracles  were  flown, 
As  fair  the  long-forsaken  temple  shone ; 
And  though  the  legend  of  the  age  of  gold 
Lay  overgrown  with  immemorial  mould, 
From  its  last  flower  was  blown  a  winged  seed 
That  rooted  in  thy  soil  the  ancient  breed, 
And  the  world's  Dragons  saw  in  thee  restored 
Alcides'  blood,  —  the  lineage  of  their  lord. 
The  Earth  thy  homage  never  learned  to  claim, 
But  made  thee  master  of  her  mighty  frame. 


THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND.  15 

No  solemn  presence  in  the  boundless  woods 
Upheld  thy  axe  that  swept  the  solitudes ; 
When  thy  bold  feet  the  nesting  eagle  won, 
Thine  eye,  unblenehing,  triumphed  in  the  sun ; 
And  on  the  crags,  around  whose  weedy  verge 
Perpetual  onset  makes  the  baffled  surge, 
Thou    -sat'st,    in    musing,   when    the  sea-bird's 

wail 

Called  up  the  night  and  piped  the  rising  gale. 
In  all  those  forms  of  power,  thine  eye  beheld 
But  subject  forces,  and  their  rage  compelled  : 
Girt  with  a  strength  unspoiled  did  Nature  stand, 
Bat  thou  wert  lord,  and  thine  the  shaping  hand ! 

Around  thy  cradle,  rocked  by  wintry  waves, 
The  Pilgrim  Fathers  sang  their  pious  staves, 
While  like  an  echo,  wandering  dim  and  vast 
Down  the  snow-laden  forests  of  the  Past, 
The  Norsemen's  hail  through  bearded  lips  rang 

out, 
Frothy  with  mead,  at  every  wassail-bout, 


16  THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND. 

And  softer  chimes,  the  rugged  stops  between, 
Filled  far  away  the  Southern  woods  of  green, 
Bearing  the  music  of  chivalric  Spain 
To  meet  and  mingle  with  that  ruder  strain. 

Take  we  the  volume,  where  thy  legend  stands, 
And  turn  its  pages  with  our  childish  hands. 
How  the  rare  flavor,  stealing  to  the  brain, 
Informs  each  scene,  and  bids  it  breathe  again ! 
Like  its  own  dreams,  the  willing  mind  believes 
The  shapes  that  glimmer  on  the  pictured  leaves. 
We   swing  their   swords,   we    sing   their   lusty 

songs ; 

The  far  remembrance  to  ourself  belongs ; 
Their  toil  and  daring  seem  our  lives  to  crown, 
And  we  are  heirs  to  all  their  old  renown ! 

Rein  to  that  flattering  fancy  let  us  give, 
And  for  a  moment  in  our  legends  live, 
Roaming  from  year  to  year,  from  land  to  land, 
Where'er  may  wave  the  weird  enchanter's  wand. 


THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND.  17 

The  stars  are  out ;  our  fires  begin  to  shine  ; 
Our  sleep  is  cradled  by  the  chanting  pine ; 
The  bubbling  noise  of  undiscovered  floods 
Conies  through  the  heart  of  deep  magnolia  woods, 
And  Ponce  de  Leon,  leaning  on  his  brand, 
Cries,   "  God  for    Spain !  —  the   Fountain  is  at 
hand ! " 

Now  green  Virginia  greets  us  from  the  seas  : 
Thy   hand,   bold    Raleigh,   gives   the   landward 

breeze 

The  lion-flag,  that  late,  in  summer  calms, 
Flamed  in  the  shade  of  Orinoco's  palms, 
When,  to  thy  poet- vision  fair  unrolled, 
The  splendid  fable  waved  its  wings  of  gold, 
But  like  the  faithless  bird  of  Eastern  lore, 
Still  farther  flying,  mocked  thy  hope  the  more. 
Though  vain  the  fabric  thou  didst  toil  to  frame, 
Yet,  gallant  Raleigh!  we  have  kept  thy  name; 
Long  with  our  annals  shall  thy  story  blend, 
Whom  noble  Sydney  cherished  as  his  friend,  — 
2* 


18  THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND. 

Who  pressed  thy  Spenser's  heart  in  frank  em 
brace, 
And  stood  with  mighty  Shakspeare  face  to  face ! 

We  turn  the  leaf:  we  breathe  the  smoky  calm 
That  fills  thy  quiet  streets,  New  Amsterdam !  — 
Quiet,  save  when  Van  Corlear's  trump  is  blown, 
And  warlike  Peter  puts  his  harness  on : 
Then  fume  the  burghers,  fired  with  bold  emprise, 
Then  beer  goes  down,  and  angry  whiffs  arise ! 
Loud  to  the  combat  shrills  the  piping  reed 
*  Gainst  prying  Yankee  and  presumptuous  Swede, 
While  eager  swords,  that  cannot  find  a  foe, 
Lay  many  a  field  of  embryo  sourkrout  low. 
Soon  the  fierce  puffs  their  valorous   heads  en 
shroud, 

And  their  own  wrath  enwraps  them  as  a  cloud. 
There  let  them  rest :  their  sturdy  work  survives 
To  check  our  rude  irreverence  of  their  lives ; 
No  longer,  then,  their  portly  shades  provoke,  — 
Thy  dreams,  Van  T wilier,  did  not  end  in  smoke  ! 


THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND.  19 

Where  Delaware  rolls  his  glassy  waters,  now 
The  light  winds  urge  our  Scandinavian  prow : 
The  anchor  drops,  —  the  shallop  strikes  the  shore, 
And  Calmar's  Key  unlocks  an  empire's  door. 
Our  forest-fort  displays  its  ramparts  bare, 
And  Printz,  our  leader,  plants  his  banner  there. 
How  well  he  kept  it  let  those  envoys  say, 
Whose  clumsy  galleon  wallowed  in  our  bay. 
When  of  submission  spoke  the  braggart  carles, 
Shot  through  his  blood  the  rage  of  all  the  Jarls : 
"  By  Odin's  throne  ! "  his  iron  accents  burst ; 
"  We  strike  our  flag?    we  wear  your  yoke  ac 
cursed  ? 
We    bend   the   knee,    and   break   the    Swedish 

sword, 

And  hail  your  limping  chieftain  as  our  lord  ? 
Be  this  our  answer!"     In  each  trowsers-band 
Our  Northern  giant  twists  his  brawny  hand, 
Plants  his  firm  foot,  that  jars  the  solid  floor, 
And   hurls   the   burly    Dutchmen    through    the 
door. 


20  THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND. 

Could  we  but  linger,  many  a  page  remains 
Illuminate,  despite  its  mouldy  stains. 
We  join  the  hymns  of  Puritanic  sires, 
Sedately  grouped  about  the  forest-fires, 
When,  firm  in  faith,  they  bind  their  bleeding  scars, 
Returning  home  from  Narraganset  wars. 
We  hear  the  volleyed  shot,  the  Indian  yell, 
Ring   through  the  pass  where    stubborn    Brad- 
dock  fell, 

Or,  following  up  the  steps  of  glory,  mix 
In  the  embattled  ranks  of  Seventy- Six, — 
Arm    in     hot     haste    on     Concord's    trampled 

ground,  — 
Toil    in    the    trench    that    hallowed    Bunker's 

mound, — 
Fire  with  old  Wayne   the    Hudson's    midnight 

gorge,  — 

Starve  on  the  wintry  hills  of  Valley  Forge,  — 
House  with  the  panther  under  Marion's  pines, 
And    lead    the    charge    at    Yorktown's   closing 
lines ! 


THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND.  21 

These  are  the  legends,  at  whose  living  springs 
Our   bards    should   drink,  and  lave  their  dusty 

wings ; 

Then,  from  the  baptism  rising  newly-born, 
Soar  in  the  sunshine  of  their  country's  morn ! 
Not  theirs  to  grope  amid  barbaric  mould, 
Where   nameless  mounds  their  nameless   idols 

hold,  — 

To  bait  their  lines  from  antiquarian  sods, 
And  weave  grim  stanzas  to  the  dumb-eyed  gods, 
Where  feathered  serpents  fill  the  sacred  grove 
And  Quetzatcoatl  takes  the  place  of  Jove ! 
They  need  not  dig,  to  grace  the  toilsome  page, 
The  shapeless  relics  of  a  fossil  age. 
Let  gaunt  Behemoth  rest  his  weary  bones, 
And  drop  no  tear  on  dead  Palenque's  stones, 
Nor  dream,  like  those  who  wrought  on  Babel's 

plain, 

To  pile  them  heavenward,  building  in  your  brain 
Some  monstrous  epic,  doomed  to  rust,  ere  long, 
A  Gorgon-head  upon  the  shield  of  Song ! 


22  THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND. 

But  some  there  be,  whose  lips  already  know 
The   true    old   speech,    and   breathe   its    native 

glow. 

Honor  to  him  who  from  his  Baltic  home 
Followed  the  Viking  over  the  un ploughed  foarn, 
And  heard  the  sob,  when,  clad  in  warlike  gear, 
Beside  the  tower  he  fell  upon  his  spear,  — 
Led  by  whose  hand,  along  the  sounding  sea, 
We  walk  thy  meadows,  virgin  Acadie ! 
Sail  with  thy  children,  while  their  slight  canoe, 
Cape  after  cape,  drops  down  the  still  bayou, 
With  restless  Gabriel  rove  through  many  a  scene, 
And  weep  the  tears  of  sweet  Evangeline. 
Him,  too,  we  name,  whose  clanging  lines  reveal 
The  roar  of  cannon  and  the  ring  of  steel, 
The  border  fight,  the  strife  of  man  with  man, 
When  Papist  sword  was  crossed  with  Puritan. 
He  guides  our  steps  where,  in  their  bloody  bed, 
Pentucket's  foes  lie  mingled  with  her  dead,  — 
He  bids  us  plant  Sebago's  funeral  tree, 
And  with  La  Tour  for  vengeance  sweep  the  sea ! 


THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND.  23 

We  leave  the    Past :  how   stands  the  nation 

now  ? 
What   newer   spoils    have   crowned    his    hardy 

brow  ? 

What  deeds  are  done,  what  chronicle  sublime 
Shall  be  the  legend  of  his  later  time  ? 
The  nursling  giant,  in  whose  gripe  of  pride 
The  serpent  wrongs  of  old  Oppression  died, 
While  rocked  on  Freedom's  buckler  yet  he  lay, 
Like  a  young  athlete  lifts  his  arm  to-day ! 
With  conscious  strength,  the  prophecy  of  fame, 
He  wrestles  in  the  world's  Olympic  game. 
From  Northern  lakes,  where  brief  the    summer 

smiles, 

His  realm,  expanding,  meet  the  Indian  isles ; 
The  savage  elements  become  his  slaves  ; 
His  fiery  heralds  ride  the  conquered  waves  ; 
Beyond  the  central  wastes  his  journey  goes, 
By  sandy  plains  and  over  Alpine  snows, 
Where  grander  oceans  break  on  beach  and  crag. 
And  fresher  breezes  toss  his  fearless  flag,  — 


24  THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND. 

Where,  pausing,  bounded  in  his  march  elate, 
He  plants  his  pillars  at  the  Sunset's  gate ! 

Not  vain  the  question,  if  of  right  belong 
To  present  deeds  the  seed  of  future  song. 
Full  many  a  goodly  measure  has  been  sown 
On  windy  plains  and  wastes  of  barren  stone, 
And  many  a  stalk,  that  finds  a  place  to  sprout, 
Will  never  see  the  ripening  harvest  out, 
But  rankly  shoot  and  prematurely  drop, 
For  Heroes  are  a  most  uncertain  crop. 
Yet,  from  our  time,  it  were  no  vain  belief, 
The  reaper  Fame  may  bind  one  golden  sheaf, 
Not  from  the  plants  of  battle-soil  alone, 
But  fragrant  llowers,  in  milder  gardens  grown. 
There,  too,  shall  move  the  endless  length  of  trains 
Westward  across  the  desert  stretch  of  plains, 
And  there,  where  wide  the  watery  circle  dips, 
Swell  the  white  canvas  of  a  thousand  ships, 
Bearing   those    hordes  (and  still  their  ranks  in 
crease) 
Who  go  to  find —  or  feel  —  the  golden  fleece. 


THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND.  25 

The  stalwart  life  that  loves  the  mountain  air, 
Earth's  freest  blood,  shall  pulse  immortal  there,  — 
Life,  that  ne'er  sits  with  idle  pinions  furled, 
But  takes  its  joy  in  God's  created  world, 
Strong  as  the  rock,  and  as  the  sunbeam  warm, 
Frank  as  the  sky,  impetuous  as  the  storm ! 
But  hark !  the  minute  gun,  the  muffled  bell, 
E'en  while  I  speak,  begin  a  hero's  knell. 
Thou,  too,  my  country,  hear'st  that  heavy  chime, 
And  sitt'st  a  mourner  in  thy  woe  sublime, 
Thy  heart  cast  down,  oppressed  by  sudden  fears, 
Thine  eyes  o'ercharged  with  unavailing  tears. 
Well  mayst  thou  mourn !  there  comes  no  quick- 
relief,  — 

No  morning  twilight  to  thy  night  of  grief. 
His  was  the  generous  heart  to  thee  unclosed, 
His  was  the  arm  whereon  thy  trust  reposed, 
His  was  the  simple  faith,  the  will  complete, 
The  soldier  daring,  never  taught  retreat, 
That  only  saw,  wherever  danger  led, 
The  star  of  duty  shining  overhead, 
3 


26  THE    AMERICAN    LEGEND. 

Followed  that  star  through  battle's  fiery  breath, 
And  hailed  it  shining  on  the  front  of  Death! 

Here  let  me  pause ;  nor  seek  to  lift  the  eye 
And  wear  the  kindling  face  of  Prophecy, 
Pretend  to  tear  the  future's  veil  aside 
And  pamper  dreams  of  patriotic  pride 
With  gorgeous  pictures,  where  the  nation's  hand 
Shall  touch  the  tropic  and  the  polar  land, 
Clasping  the  Continent  in  one  embrace, 
The  mighty  heirdom  of  the  Saxon  race ! 
Enough  for  her,  in  self-dependent  power, 
To  wrest  the  favor  of  the  present  hour. 
And  whether  we,  who  see  that  hour  go  by, 
Shall  see  her  standard  brush  the  Southern  sky, 
Shall  hear  her  trumps  their  morning  marches  blow 
Where  Orizaba  lifts  its  helm  of  snow, — 
Shall  join  the  cheers  of  Independence  Day 
By  Cuba's  palms  or  Hudson's  icy  bay,  — 
Or  whether  Factions  rise  to  overwhelm, 
And  leave  behind  a  clipped  and  shrunken  realm, 


THE   AMERICAN    LEGEND.  27 

Still  be  it  ours  that  manly  trust  to  keep, 
Wherewith  our  Legend's  living  pulses  leap, 
Copy  their  strength,  their  zeal,  their  faith  sub 
lime, 
And  leave  the  Future  unto  God  and  Time ! 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  bock  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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